The story below is a work of fiction, set in the format of reality. Any resemblances to real people, alive or in the hereafter, is entirely coincidental in nature. It is not meant to accurately reflect upon persons, in towns, cities, nor governmental areas, which the story is stages. If a sexual scene involving male-to-male relationships offences you, then you should not read this story. Additionally, if you are under 18 years of age, in most state and countries, you are not allowed to read this story, by law. Check with your local laws regarding such. Sexual safety matters. This is fiction. Use protection, in real life.
ROAD TRIP retrofit wriTten by T. Chase McPhee
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"Why are we stopping here? Somebody gotta make a pit stop?" Ethan asks.
I knew they all thought what they thought.
"I know I haven't run the tires off of it yet, but I think I'm due for an upgrade."
"You... you're going to by a new car?"
"Yeah. I was figuring that... well, you're going to need something to schlep yourself around in, Roberto, so..."
"No."
"What?"
"Anthony, I can't afford a new car!"
"I didn't say anything about a new car for you. Nope. You're gonna have to take this `old' Lexus, whether you want it or not, with the 75,000 miles on it."
"Me? Driving your Lexus? But, Anthony..."
Then, from the back seat, comes, "Hey, can we get a piece of the action, too?"
"Yeah," Randy states, "I know I can get my mom to `upgrade her wardrobe'!"
We all laughed, knowing everytime Randy's mom sent him a check, on the books it looked like something designed by Xerxes Bhathena, Alberta Ferretti, Moschino or Etro. $1200 for a one-of-a-kind piece of apparel, worn a coupla times, would help Randy's interest dwindle down, in his share of the Lexus. Of course, offering the sale of the Lexus, for $1, gave them a head start on the insurance, gas and as Randy stated, replacing the single CD player with an I-pod. I grinned, as my three passengers became all eyes, when I turned into the Volvo dealership. Each right away, voiced their opinion.
Randy states, "Cool! You've gotta get the navy blue." "Nah, silver is cooler!"
Ethan gloated over the shiny one, in the lot, to the right, as we pulled in.
"Nice red, wouldn't you agree, my love?"
"It's not for me, Anthony. If you want chili pepper red, it's fine with me."
I could tell, by the smile on his face. As we piled out, spread out, the backseat pair walked among the SUV's, my love and I heading to a few nearest the showroom. I had to crack up, Roberto warning of the encroaching salesman.
"Speaking of hot tamale's Anthony?"
His eyes pointed the direction from which our salesman headed.
"Geesh! Ashton Kutcher doesn't make enough dough? He has to sell cars?"
Roberto giggled at my joke, but agreed he could be his twin. I hoped our eyes didn't feast too much on him, that it gave away our eye candy interests. "May I help you gentlemen?"
I wondered what he thought of my shirt, the polo I had stripped, way back in Bob's world, the one that had a sneaker imprint on my `stomach'.
"Yes, we're looking for a car."
Did I just make the dorkiest comment?
"Regis Peterson, at your service."
Oh, how I wished!
"Tony Toricelli and this is my... friend, Roberto Delgado."
"Nice to meet you."
Could be my imagination, but I think he held Roberto's hand longer than mine!
"New or used?"
"Huh?" I questioned.
Dork mistake number two!
"New or used car?" he then swayed in my love's direction.
"It's for him, so don't look at me."
Number three, wasn't exactly a mistake, yet I didn't want it to be known throughout the universe.
"Now, my love, you'll be driving it too, sometimes." "Oh, so you're...."
I'm not sure if Roberto detected it, by I did. Disappointment, if I ever sensed it. I didn't think us two looked enough alike, to be brothers. Friends, yeah that could've been pulled off.
"So, this is for the two of you. I mean, same household?"
That's putting it blunt, if I ever thought of explaining it mildly. I thought it clever. My top side also kicked in. I felt a little devilous fun coming on.
"Are you insinuating we're a couple of faggots?"
My look frightenened the shit out of him, I'm sure of it.
"Oh no. Please don't get me wrong, sir."
"Anthony, what the fuck you doing?"
Like being caught in Times Square, with my pants down, I didn't believe Roberto wasn't going along for the ride. Then again, maybe we all had had enough for one day. I came down off of my dominant throne.
"Look, I want to apologize."
I figured there was only one way of making this right. I could tell my love wasn't too thrilled with me either, at this point.
"I don't understand," Regis stated, a troubled look of perplexity on his face.
"What Anthony is trying to tell you, is we are in fact a gay couple."
His index finger, as if counting 1 plus 1, singled each of us out, but I was under the impression...
"Anthony's little game."
"Like I said, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have..."
Regis holding up the five digits, of his hand, responded, "No, no, no.. it's okay. If anyone is to apologize, it's me. I shouldn't have used my choice of words."
"No, no, no..." I insisted, "It's entirely my fault."
"He's right. It was Anthony's fault. Now, can we stop passing the buck back and forth and get on with buying a car. What've ya got?"
There it is again, Miguel's influence on his `little' brother! With hundreds, if not a coupla thousand shine, new Volvo's on the lot, did we really need a salesman? In this case, we definitely did!
"Are you looking for new or used?" he sorta started over.
"New," I answered, no strings attached.
I smiled, to myself, knowing with Roberto, I'd have to be on my guard. I watched, as Regis walked in front of us. My eye took in the back of his black suit, the shapely lower half. I couldn't help but wonder more about what was inside the suit, than the Volvo the two looked into. As I too approached, I noticed it wasn't red. It didn't matter if we got some metallic green color. In a way, I thought, I have my life to share now. I had to give in, in some instances.
"What does it have in it?"
Regis rattled off figures, by heart, that would've taken me years to consume, memorize and spit back out. Still, I would forget half the stuff. Now, if it had been the wrestling manual, I'd be able to name all the rules, most likely from top to bottom, or bottom to top. `Hmm', my loins stirred, as I stood inches from Regis' side.
"How much does this baby go for?" Roberto asked.
I smiled, thinking it funny, as if he wheeled and dealed for himself.
"Base price is $35,007."
Roberto whistled, asking him how much the same color would be in a used model. At least I sensed he liked the metallic green.
"And how much with everything in it?"
"Everything, sir?"
"Yeah," I motioned with my hands, as if Atlas, holding up the world, "everything. You know, the works?"
"Would you be needing the baby seat?"
I thought it funny, asking Roberto, "Are we planning on getting pregnant?"
"Not me!"
The three of us laughed hardily.
"Skip the baby seat."
He partially lifted the suit jacket, to retreive a little booklet, allowing me to view the ass-seam of his pants. `Stunning', I thought.
"Let's see," he flipped through charts, to the back of his book. "A 2007 XC-90, with everything in it, without tax, will come tooooooo....$57,018."
The stringbean, as if blown away by a summer wind, fell against the car behind us.
"Not bad."
"Um, Anthony, your ears clogged?"
"Nope. With tax, we're talking roughly here, $60,000, right?"
I think Regis was breathing hard, himself. I could imagine the comission on such a sale. After my next offer, I hope I wouldn't have whip out my cell and dial 911.
"Alright, I'll take this one and the red one over there, with everything in it."
His back came even with Roberto's. I had a feeling it would blow both of them away. It was kind of fun watching, but I also detected, as Regis lay against, the black Volvo, next to the metallic green, he wasn't too careful hiding the bulge in his crotch. True, there's a possibility that when he headed out to help us, to snag our business, ahead of another salesperson, he had been enroute to the jon. Anything's possible these days. Perhaps my sudden offer, made him forget the cover up, by his suit jacket. I had a feeling he was leaning forwards, kind of close to the metallic green. But, his back plastered against the black auto, brought out something massive, in Regis' personality.
"D-d-d-did you s-s-say red and green?"
"Not a mixture," I signified, crisscrossing my fingers of both hands.
"Yeah, I think I got it. You want two cars, this one," the one his crotch-bulge had been forced up against, "and that red one," he turned sideways, covering the bulge, with his suit jacket, "over there?"
"Yes, the cherry looking one."
"Ruby red metallic?"
"That's it. And what's the official name of `Roberto's new car'?"
I knew he was numb, so no sense making him snap out of it.
"Willow Metallic Green."
"Hmm, nice name."
"Wow, I wish I... I... never mind."
I knew what was on the tip of Regis' tongue. I had already `read' him. He was one of us!
"Anthony, what are you doing?"
Leading my love back to the showroom, following Regis' cute...ahem, we found ourselves, in our sweaty, dusty clothes, looking like a coupla hobos shopping at Tiffany's. When we walked into the showroom, even though a mess, Regis had excused himself, apparently to alert the manager. My, didn't the host of hosts come out to see us!
"Hello, I'm Richard Morehouse, executive manager."
I introduced myself, followed by my partner. I liked the sound of the thought. From now on, I wasn't hiding anything. He was kind of fem and I wondered about his sexual orientation. However, as we had been guided over to a desk, someone sat there, in Regis' stead.
"Pardon me, Mr. Morehouse?"
"Yes, Mr. Toricelli?"
"What happened to Mr..." oh shit! I almost said, `Kutcher'! "Peterson?"
"Oh well, he's new here. Mr. Thompson will be handling your sale."
I was kind of pissed. `Yeah and he's going to get what's due Regis? No way!'
"Well then I'm sorry. We'll come back when Regis is in better standing."
Regis wasn't the only one who would benefit, apparently! In seconds, this Thompson dude had been dethroned and Regis on his way to being crowned. It felt good, to humiliate the lot of them, Morehouse whom I'm sure pride got stepped on, promising the top saleman on the totem pole a big sale, plus Thompson himself, who threw me a dirty look. Even more, the four or five in the distance, probably drooling over Regis' commission that could've been theirs. Why? Because a young guy gave up his trip to the jon, if that was the case? Before we got down to business, Regis, whom had Mr. Morehouse over his shoulder, like a hawk, started in with a little chitchat.
"Have you been out jogging?"
Any other guy and I might have taken the thought as a coupla of stinking bums, off the street. I could read Morehouse, rolling his eyes.
"Peterson, can I have a word with you, in private, please?"
"Matter of fact. Yes, we've just come from our usual Saturday morning 5k. I hope we're not smelling up your chairs or anything?"
"Yeah," Roberto states, lifting his shirt, smelling his own shirt.
Sitting up straight, his stringbean physique showed off the swirl of black hair around his rather high-in-his-stomach bellyhole, his low hugging pants, making the outline of his pubes, visible. I know Regis paid attention, but Morehouse definitely had the wind knocked out him, as if socked in the gut.
"You know gentlemen, we don't offer this to every customer, but I do believe we have some promotional polo shirts. Would you care to have one, each?"
I felt a joke coming on, yearning to humiliate Morehouse..
"Um, I'm buying two cars. Do we get two a piece?"
Laughing, as he talked, he stated, "Take five! Regis, why don't you go down to the basement and get them for the gentlemen. What size?"
I loved it!
Regis, not even looking up from his paperwork, rips off, "How about you, Mr. Morehouse. I'm already starting on this paperwork?"
I loved it!
The look on the bumbling idiot's face. How on earth did he ever get to first base with this outfit? Kissing ass? However, looking at the thirty-something year old executive manager, I wondered if those lips ever touched a male body? My loins wanted to find out!
"Um, alright," he conceded, most likely not wanting to make a scene. "I'll um, volunteer for that," he spelled out most reluctant, but swallowed his pride. It would be terrible if he lost the $120,000 sale. "Um, what size would you be needing?" I found my in!
"Small or extra-small," Roberto blurted out.
Regis wrote the sizes down on a yellow post-it note.
"For me?" I put my finger to my chin. "Now that I'm not sure of. Sometimes a large is too small."
"Fine," Morehouse says, "I'll bring a large." Regis wrote `L' on the post it.
"Then again, sometimes a large is a bit too small around the gut."
I pulled my shirt tight at the sides. Morehouse definitely had an interest in my nips, the points showing against the tight fabric. I had him pegged alright. Regis crossed out L' and wrote XL'.
"Fine," Morehouse commented.
"Then again, if the polos are made for the younger crowd, teens, they could be really a little too, too small. Have you got any `XXL's'?"
"That I'm not sure of."
Regis finally says to Morehouse, "Why don't you bring up a box?"
"Oh no," I jump in, "I can't have you doing that. What, with Mr. Morehouse dressed to a `T', the box would get him all dirty!"
I know I acted like a pompous ass, but Morehouse was eating it up. Do you think the executive manager of the dealership wished to belittle himself, traisping down to the basement, having to search through boxes, for ten shirts of particular sizes, then have to haul them up again? I was betting, `not'.
I got up, saying, "Why don't I accompany you, Mr. Morehouse?"
He tried to flub himself out of it, but I insisted.
"But Anthony, what do I do?"
I looked at Regis, back to Roberto, then suggested, "Take Regis out to lunch?"
Regis liked the idea, but offered to foot the bill.
As we headed towards a stairway, my pomposity gave way to my more dominant side. I was starting to feel downright devious. We descended the stairway, Mr. Morehouse apologizing for the mess that awaited us. Apparently downstairs had been the `bowels' of the dealership, not kept as nice, bright spanking new as upstairs.
"Right this way, Mr. Toricelli."
"I'm right behind you `Dick'."
I wondered if he got my meaning, abbreviating his first name?
"Yes, well here we are. Again, I apologize for..."
"No problem, Dick. Looks like my garage at home."
Then he started in on the chitchat.
"Are you from this town?"
Before long, he learned I was one of the wrestling coaches, at the college, lived in an upper crust part of town, the home inherited from my dad, God rest his soul, a relatively famous architect, whom had his name on the cornerstones of buildings, from New York City, to Hong Kong and the biggie, that I was bringing my `lovely bride' home, to live with me! "You... you're gay?"
I thought it could be nice, to strip my shirt off first, then look for the appropriate size, but decided to pace it a little..
"Get off it Dick and you're not?"
"I beg your pardon, sir, but I'm a married man!"
I wasn't buying the marriage act. The gaydar was too strong, to forego this one. Plus, in a way, the stache kind of turned me on. I hoped more fur lay to the south, under the layer of clothing. I aimed to find out.
"Cut the bullshit, eh Dick?"
He melted, when I stepped forward, feeling up his bulge, right through his pants.
"Like I said, Dick. What does marriage have to do with it?"
"You... you're so right, sir."
Surrender can be so sweet. It's then I decided it time to try on shirts.
"Help me off with my shirt, why don't you?"
"You're shirt, sir?"
"Don't play dumb, Dick. How many men have you stripped in this room?"
He swallowed, his hands going for my shirttail, hanging out of my pants. I raised my arms up, over my head. He lifted it up and over, turning it inside out. "How about we have a peak of what you have to offer?" "Um, down here?"
I turned, towards the door that connected the windowless room to the outter hallway. I threw the simple bolt.As I walked back, I took notice of the upper bulb, reflecting off the floor. Sure, like Morehouse had stated, the doorstairs had been the storage area, not intended for customer's eyes, however, I knew what dried cum, on the floor, looked like.
"Tell me, Dick," I inquired, as I kicked my sneakers off, "how many times has Thompson fucked your ass?"
"None, I assure you!"
"Y'know what?"
"What?" He returned my quest for info.
"I believe you. So, which of the other's?"
He sensed I was on to something.
"Would it really matter knowing?"
Smiling, I began to unlatch my belt buckle.
"What are you doing?"
"What does it look like, Dick? I'm getting comfortable and look at you. Here I am, almost down to my briefs and you're still on that shirt!"
His hands didn't know what to do, as I advanced, took his buttons in my hands, undid them. I pulled the shirt from his trousers, tearing at the last two, that fell below the beltline.
"Oops! Sorry about that!"
I placed my fingers to my mouth, as if I really goofed and tore the buttons off.
"My wife is going to..."
"What Dick? How many excuses have you made up, telling her you would be working late, when in reality, for two to three hours, in the evening, when the dealership's been closed, you had sex down here? Huh?"
"Well I..."
I think he started to see things as I saw them. He unreluctantly let me peel the shirt off his shoulders, brush it behind, his hands catching it behind his back.
"How old are you Dick?"
"Why?"
"Just answer the question?"
I felt like some detective, interrogating a prisoner.
"Thirty-two. How old did you think I was?"
His tongue could get him into trouble, if he didn't watch out. Now wouldn't that be fun!
"Thirty-something. I'm not good at guessing ages."
"And you?"
He wasn't fighting me, as I unbuckled his belt, suggesting, "Kick off the shoes, huh? I'm twenty-seven. Why? How old do you think I am?"
"Thirty maybe."
"See that, Dick?"
"What?"
"Something in common. We both would not make good sideshowmen at the carnival, guessing ages? We'd end up broke!"
He liked my joke! He cracked a smile. I was getting somewhere.
"How long have you been married?"
"Nine years."
"Kids?"
"No. I keep getting this feeling she doesn't want them. She has her career and all."
"Oh?"
"Yeah. Real Estate."
"How's the sex?"
"So-so."
By now, as his facade caved in, so did his clothes, stepping out of his ironed pants, folding them and putting them over a hand cart.
"Ever think of making a change?"
"Change?"
We both stood there in the basement of the car dealership, in our briefs. Dark hair covered his white pecs, not overly hairy, as Ron. A thin trail divided pecs, obviously a gym jock. I could see to the bottom of his navel, not a deep innie. Yet, I liked the hair that swirled around it, before diving under the elastic of his briefs. For now, as we talked, my hands began to explore the sides of his bod, under his arms, up to his pits and down to his torso. He ventured into the same territory, on my body, peering more below my neck, than at my face.
"From marriage, to the gay lifestyle?"
"It would mean giving up a lot."
"But how does being gay and being married, affect you psychologically?"
His hands stopped their roaming up and down, focusing on my torso.
"I don't know Anthony."
Good, we were on first name basis. Also, he knew I was talking truthfully.
Picking up his chin, as if glued to his chest, I moved my lips closer. His arms went right through me, to my back. I felt a little pain, winced.
"Are you okay?" the tough, dramatic Richard, mellowed out to softly.
"Yeah. Gardening. I scratched my back."
"You've gotta be careful, Anthony."
As he spoke my name, it came across very sexy. To either of us, my back didn't matter. Our lips touching is all we needed, for the moment. I made the first move, put my thumbs in the elastic of his waist. He followed suit. Soon, our briefs met at our ankles, a quick dance, to kick them aside.
"I need a blow job real bad, Richard."
He smiled, falling to his knees. Yes, Richard must've visited this room quite often, according to how he handled my shaft, with his tongue. My head dropped back, my back arching, causing a little stinging sensation, from Bob's strapping. However, Richard's gliding tongue, pushed thoughts of it all aside. Proof, Richard used this room for more than storage, became obvious, as he led me to the rear of the room. Several boxes of shirts lay on the floor, broken open.
"Another reason I don't offer shirts to the customers!"
His little gag, made me giggle.
"I hope Roberto and I won't be disturbing your bed too much?"
As I lay down on the dozens of spilled out shirts, he fit his knees inside my legs.
"What about your partner? He doesn't care if you um..."
"It's not that he doesn't care. Let's keep it to the word, `mind'?"
"Fair enough."
"In fact, I don't doubt that possibly he and your number one salesman might be having some little get together on their own."
"You're that open?"
"For now. Maybe when we get settled, things might change."
His cock touched the floor, totally erect. Ages didn't come easy, but cock sizes, I could be right on the money. All I had to do is compare a man's hard shaft to my 9.5 inches of cut meat and I'd be able to come up with a good estimate. I guestimated Richard at being about a nine. He wasn't much shorter than mine.
"Want to `69'?"
"You're versatile, are you?"
I reported back, "Versatile orally, except rimming, but total top when it comes to filling a chute."
He smiled, "Sounds hot."
So, he shifted around, us laying head to pubes, pubes to head, taking in each other's hard shaft. I don't know how long we hung there, licking each other's cock, Richard feeling my body up, as I did his.
He pulled off, to say, "I'm coming near."
It was my cue. Getting on his knees, doggie style, Richard then bent his shoulders down, to the ground. His ass stood, propped up in the air.
"Got any lube?"
"Yeah."
From one of the shirts, he pulled a clear tube.
"How can you keep track of that one?"
"Defective. Only shirt that doesn't have the white stripes, plus the logo is missing."
Richard didn't turn out to be a bad guy, taken out of the straight world above. In fact, I think we started to develop a mutual liking for each other. For sure, Richard loved the feel of my cock deep inside his ass. Sweating like a hog, he kept on pressing back, wanting me to fill him up, past my balls. As I came, I pulled out, shooting my load on his back. He masturbated himself, shooting his load on a shirt, he had preselected, isolating it as the `semen-collector'! I collapsed on his back, as his stomach hit the pile of strewn shirts.
"That was totally fucking good, Anthony. Thanks."
I really enjoyed it myself, the whole thing, from kissing, feeling up of each other's bods, the `69' and his ass was nice and tight.
"Glad you feel that way, Richard."
"Oh?"
"Yeah. I think maybe you need a new location to meet, instead of this dark, dreary dungeon!"
He laughed.
Neither of us realized we had been sequestered, alone, in the basement for two hours. As we entered the car showroom, I spotted my love walking in the door with Regis. Our eyes connected, swapping silent stories of the possibilities of how we each spent the past two hours.
"You can handle this, right Regis?" Richard Morehouse patted him on the shoulder.
"I believe so, Mr. Morehouse."
"Um, Richard."
I can't believe the difference in temperment. On the way up, I did mention that Regis wasn't his enemy, in fact a very nice single', gay' man. He walked away, leaving Regis to work out the purchase of the two cars. After an hour and a few minutes, we had everything squared away. In five days, two brand new 2007 Volvo XC-90's fully loaded, would be sitting in `our' driveway.
"Thanks very much," I relayed to Regis, shaking his hand.
"The shirt looks good," He told me.
"Yeah. Amazing that the large did fit nicely."
I thought about my cock fitting nicely into Richard's ass. As he looked at Roberto, I sensed he might have had a similar experience.
"You have our number. Why don't you come over sometime, Regis?"
"I'd like that, thanks."
"Bring your boss."
If Regis didn't have the gift to `gaydar', I figured the hint was enough.
"Um, Mr. Morehouse?"
I let on, "Richard and yeah, you two might have some fun together."
"But he's married."
Even Roberto keyed him into, "Like that doesn't matter anymore, dude."
"Kewl," he said, a smile on his face.
"Um, Anthony?"
"Yeah," I turned.
Richard stood there, a hand extended.
"I'm going to think about what you said."
"In regards to?"
"Coming out. I think it might be a good thing for me. Not pretending anymore. Thanks."
"Let me start the ball rolling, why don't I?"
I gave him his first public hug. He didn't fight it, his arms taking me in too. As we both turned towards the door, it seemed like he wasn't the only one taking the big leap of faith. There, Regis hugged Ethan, then Randy, adding a long one to the chain, with my love.
"So, what did you two do for two hours?"
Randy looked at Ethan, who returned his gaze.
"Something I'm going to be pissed at, I suspect?"
"No," Ethan offered.
Randy, subdued, asks, "Do you live far from here, Anthony?"
"Cut the crap, guys?"
"Okay," Ethan broke the ice, "We know we've committed to buying this car and all, but we found a little place, small, above the pizzeria and..."
Randy broke in, "The guy that rents the apartment..."
My turn, "Sal?"
"Yeah. You know him, Anthony?"
"His apartment is up for rent?"
"You've seen it?"
"First of all, Sal's a real sweetheart. Secondly, he runs a tight ship, keeping it nice and clean. Third, I'm paying the first month's rent, plus securities, no arguments!"
Randy and Ethan, ecstatic, didn't contest my generosity.
"We'll pay you back, Anthony," Randy offered.
Ethan says, "Yeah. Sal offered us jobs."
"Looks like my old Lexus is going to be converted into a pizza delivery boy's transport, eh?"
They acknowledged as much.
However, my love, asked, "Anthony, where are you getting all this loot?"
I told him, when we got to my place, I'd explain all. The three of them, sat there, all agog, taking in the neighborhood from all views, as it changed to upper crust level, the pivot hedges, manicured to perfection, wrought iron and brick fencing, homes that resembled mansions. I did learn that Roberto did know a teeny bit of spanish, I think comprising of curse words!
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Copyright 2006 T. Chase McPhee This story may not be sold, nor made part of any collection without prior written permission, by the author.